Set the Dark on Fire
by alivingfantasy
Summary: In 1899, Rosewood socialite Spencer Hastings has it all-wealth, beauty, and a successful, handsome fiance. But when she meets Toby Cavanaugh, her whole world is turned upside-down. Spoby. AU. Multichap.


**a/n: hello again, my beautiful readers. i am back with a story that i am particularly excited for you guys to read, so i hope you all enjoy :)**

**(a quick note to one of my favorite people ever: Tracey, there's another #Trana PLL-style scene i've slipped in here. hope you enjoy it. i love you tons xoxo)**

**this fic will be an AU multichapter, so it's a bit different from the pieces i usually post on here. i loved writing this, however, so without further ado, here's _set the dark on fire._**

**reviews, or feedback of any kind, make my day. thank you!**

**xoxo,**

**-Ana**

**-:-**

_**-Set the Dark on Fire-**_

**-:-**

**spoby-au multichap**

**-:-**

**chapter one**

**-:-**

_"Love is the irresistable desire to be dresired irresistably." -Robert Frost_

**-:-**

Eighteen-year-old Spencer Hastings was hideously bored.

She knew it was insane to be _bored _at the most eagerly-anticipated social event of the summer of 1899, Hanna Marin's black and white ball. And yet, though she was sipping Chardonnay in the sumptuous ballroom of the Marin estate, surrounded by the wealthiest and most privileged in Rosewood, Pennsylvania, dressed to the nines in the most fashionable gowns of satin and silk and lace, diamonds dripping from ears and wrists and throats, all she could think of was that she wished she could be anywhere else.

The party was the sort her fiancé, Wren Kingston, son of British real estate tycoon Asher Kingston, would never want to leave.

Spencer thought of Wren now, as she leaned against a pillar in the far corner of the room. He was her first—and only—love. Her first kiss, on the beach the summer she'd been thirteen. The first boy she'd danced with, held hands with, really _been _with.

The first, and the only.

He'd proposed three times, the last of them being right before she'd left for her summer holiday, and she could still remember the way he'd looked at her, so deeply, as if looking into her soul. How he'd taken her hand, held it tight. How he'd said the words.

_"I want you to marry me."_

She'd said yes.

He was handsome. Smart. Sweet. He knew her, he loved her. Her parents liked him, his parents liked her. Their families, individually, were successful; but together, the Hastings-Kingston union would be unconquerable.

She wondered if her engagement was the talk of the town yet.

Spencer sighed, brushing a slender hand through her long mahogany curls. Her deep, amber-colored eyes scanned the room, studying the well-dressed couples waltzing across the floor in time to the string quartet playing softly in the background; rolling derisively at the omnipresent chatter of gossip-_Ashleigh Brown is having an affair with Robert Maxwell. Did you hear Eliza and Max Whittaker are divorcing? __She caught a mutter of her own name._

It was foolish, Spencer thought, taking another sip of the Chardonnay. Was it really so terribly hard for people to mind their own business?

Almost as quickly as the thought crossed her mind, she realized that it was terribly hard. Rosewood was a small town, a pristine suburban jewel. Its residents were the well-to-do heirs of old family money. They were also notorious for sniffing out any scandal that ever occurred in their perfect little town.

In a town that was, yes, _perfect_, flaws were easy to spot. And once a flaw was spotted, or at least glimpsed, the whispers began.

Spencer had been thrilled to escape the scrutiny of Rosewood for the summer. She'd spent the months of May through August at her family's villa in Italy, returning home just in time for Hanna's soiree.

Unfortunately.

It wasn't that Hanna, who had been like a sister to her for years, didn't know how to throw a party. The soft candlelight, decadent five-star food (including hors d'oeuvres you just had to have _one more_ of), and the trilling laughs of partygoers proved otherwise. It was just that being back in Rosewood meant being shoved back into the glaring spotlight. It meant critiques of Spencer's wardrobe, her friends, her routines.

She should've been used to it, she surmised. After all, she _was _a Hastings. The younger daughter of Peter and Veronica Hastings, the granddaughter of debutante Elizabeth Hastings. The pearls at her throat were vintage family heirlooms, and as she fingered them, she recalled what her mother had told her when she'd pulled them from a wrapping of pretty pink tissue paper on her sixteenth birthday.

_"These pearls represent who you are. A Hastings. Shining, with no visible flaws. Wear them well, and do not shame us."_

"Spencer?"

She was startled from her reverie by a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around, almost spilling her wine, and looked into the bright baby blue eyes of Hanna Marin, the lady of the hour. She wore her blonde curls in a perfectly-structured chignon, and her black gown displayed a daring V at the neck. Her face shone with laughter, and the huge sapphire ring on her finger caught the light, creating a bouncing kaleidoscope.

"Hanna. You scared me half to death! What on earth are you thinking, sneaking up on me that way?"

Hanna's eyes glittered with fun. "I apologize, but perhaps if you hadn't been off in dreamland, I wouldn't have scared you quite as much. Aren't you enjoying the party?"

Once again, Spencer looked back at the crowd, the rustling skirts, the clinking glasses, and sighed. Looking back at Hanna, she forced a smile. "It's lovely, as always. Your parties are always lovely. It's just…I returned from Italy last night and am still feeling a bit out of sorts."

"Oh!" Now those big blue eyes widened. "I almost forgot! You must tell me about Italy! I want every single detail."

And with that, she dragged Spencer back into the glitz and glamour—and the whispers that lurked beneath.

-:-

An hour later, Spencer sat with Hanna, along with a few other girls in their social circle, Emily, Aria, Tracey, and Ana, sipping champagne from delicate flutes on the terrace of the Marin estate. It had been tiny, hazel-eyed Aria who had suggested escaping the noise and crowd of the party, and the others had agreed.

Between sips of bubbly, the girls discussed their summers—Hanna had spent hers sunning and shopping in Bel Air; Tracey and Ana had visited Tracey's family's pied-a-tierre in France—and the latest fashions.

Simple girl talk, Spencer thought with a satisfied smile.

"While the fashions in Bel Air are to die for," Hanna was saying, "so are the gentlemen. My mother introduced me to the son of one of my father's business associates. Oh, goodness. He was wonderful."

"I can only imagine," Ana replied, twirling her dark brown hair around her finger. She and Tracey were next-door neighbors, best friends, and practically twins. They finished each other's sentences, loved the same things, and basically did everything together.

"There were some wonderful French gentlemen, too," Tracey added. "Ana and I bumped into two at the market."

"We are probably boring Spencer with all this talk," Aria said, grinning at her. "She already has her Mr. Wonderful."

Spencer blushed. "His name is Wren."

"We know that, silly goose." Hanna playfully poked Spencer's arm with her gloved finger. "Where is Mr. Wonderful Wren tonight, mmm?"

"He and his parents had a prior engagement to attend to," Spencer responded, smoothing the skirt of her dress.

"Aw." Hanna pouted. "That's too bad. I was hoping I'd finagle you two into a waltz."

"Perhaps some other time," Spencer replied briskly, downing the last of her champagne.

"I was so thrilled to hear of your engagement," Emily told her, taking her hand. Caramel-skinned, exotically beautiful Emily was the sweetest of the group. "Truly, you and Wren make such a beautiful couple."

"Thank you," Spencer replied, infusing graciousness into her voice the way her mother had taught her to. "I sincerely hope you'll attend the wedding."

"Why, of course!" Emily beamed. "Have you set a date yet?"

The next several minutes passed with Spencer fielding questions hurled at her by her friends—questions about colors, flowers, cakes, dresses.

It was Tracey who, in Spencer's mind, saved her. "My, I've such a craving for-"

"An éclair?" Ana supplied, proof of the telepathic communication between them. "I'll go with you." She stood up. "Do any of you want something?"

Hanna, Emily, Aria, and Spencer shook their heads, watching the two girls glide inside, their matching silk dresses—Ana's white; Tracey's black—sweeping the floor.

"We should go back inside as well," Emily said after a moment. "My mother will have lined up boys for me to dance with."

"Yes," Aria sighed. "Mine as well."

"I should go speak with Mrs. Whitebaum," Hanna added. "She'll feel bad if I don't."

Spencer stood up as well. "I suppose I came to a party, not a lonely drink on the terrace."

As she walked back to the party—to the diamonds and tuxedos and softly sobbing strings—she considered just how quickly her moment of peace had gone, drained away as fast as champagne from a glass.

Stepping back into the brightness, she forced another smile.

She was a Hastings, after all. And this was where she belonged.

-:-

**ahem. this is not a wrencer story, so don't kill me yet. toby will be introduced next ch ;) **

**stay tuned! can't wait to share more with you all x3**


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